


"I don't trust all this science stuff."

by Atqueinstupracaballum



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Animal Transformation, Author Is Sleep Deprived, But Wilson gets very enamored with our dear werebeaver here, For Science!, I really don't know if this counts as Wilson/Woodie, Implied Eye Confiscation, Mad Science, Manipulation, Threats, Werebeaver, Wilson is a bad friend, so I tagged it, this is fucked up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:55:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27562633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atqueinstupracaballum/pseuds/Atqueinstupracaballum
Summary: The full moon comes around and Wilson discovers that perhaps there is more to his newfound friend and campmate then just wood chopping and the occasional whittling.
Relationships: Wilson/Woodie (Don't Starve)
Kudos: 19





	"I don't trust all this science stuff."

**Author's Note:**

> This is considerably less fluffy than my previous fic of these two...but the idea for this slapped me in the face and finally I just had to get it out so it would stop pestering me. It also served as good practice for writing this sort of Wilson. Remember folks, Debased Mad Scientist Wilson is best Wilson!
> 
> On a side note: Sorry Woodie, I legitimately feel kinda bad for doing this to ya.

"I'm goin' to go on a supply trip out, I'll come back sometime tomorrow, alright?"

Woodie was a notoriously bad liar, hard as he tried. 

Wilson found himself baffled by the lumberjacks proposal, openly giving him an odd look from where he sat fixing traps. The ginger was all ready to go, backpack slung over his shoulder, ax in one hand, a map in the other.

"We're doing perfectly alright in supplies, there's no need to risk your hide straying from camp at night," was the scientists logical response. Woodie chuckled nervously, shifting foot to foot, grip on Lucy adjusting.

"Well ya never know Wilson, out here, I figured its better to be safe then sorry."

"But at the risk of being thoroughly unsafe and very sorry? The costs versus benefits don't add up, it isn't worth the trouble..." Woodie grew even more nervous at his gripes and it occurred to Wilson that this all may not be about supplies. 

The sky was stained pink, growing darker, and darker by the minute. Woodie looked upwards to this and gulped, crushing the map in his fist as he gave a forcibly easygoing chuckle. "Don't worry yerself a bit...I'll be back by afternoon, alright, and I'll come back with a plentiful harvest for us, ey?"

Wilson watched the man power walk away from the camp into the woods, curiosity stroking up within him.

There were times when both of them needed space, needed to go out alone into the woods and sit with themselves for a night or two. Both of them had been loners Before and for many a millennium after they had come. For both of them solitude was, at times, far more comfortable than company. Woodies scampering off that day was not that, nor was it a trip out for supplies, he would not have lied so clunkily, in either case, and would not have lied at all, be it that he just wanted alone time.

No, this was new.

Wilson had observed that through the last few days Woodie had seemed more on edge. The usually easygoing lumberjack seemed to have something on his mind, yet never brought it to Wilson, or even to lucy, from what he heard. Something hung oddly over his head, especially in the night, as he looked up to the moon and stars like a man being condemned to jail. It made no sense, such negativity, which only grew with each night.

Wilson sighed, attempting to refocus on the bunny trap in his hands.

The busy work was simple enough that he did not have to put much effort into thinking about his actions, it was all mechanical, allowing his mind to freely roam. Images called to him from the crevices of his mind, of Woodie going out into the woods to make deals with Maxwell, or uncover some secret stash of goods he was keeping from Wilson, some secret in general....it began to nag harder at the scientist, his curiosity winning over his common decency -of which he was lacking to begin with-.

besides, Woodie was newer to the board the Wilson, and they were friends enough, if Woodie was throwing himself into some foolish trouble...The picture of Wilson swooping in to save the usually tough skinned lumberjack was not a ugly one to the scientist, always willing to show off his knowledge and skill...and always ready for a adventure.

Throwing aside the trap, he took up a torch, his trusty spear, and his backpack, and set off in the direction which Woodie had gone.

It did not take him long to track and catch up with the Canadian, who was still power walking away from camp in a straight line. Wilson was stealthy as he slinked behind in the shadows, silent and observant as he trailed his prey. He could not see Woodies face in the pinkish red of nights precursor, but he could tell by his gate and by the tensity of his shoulders that the man was unhappy. This only threw kindly upon the fire of his curiosity. 

At last, just before night swept in and engulfed them, Woodie sat down and made a fire. Now Wilson, who had settled himself in a tree where the light would keep him safe, yet the shadows still concealed him, was fully able to see the slouching figure of his friend, and the thoroughly miserable expression of his face as the fire flickered and the full moon rose. He stared ahead of him for a time, a look of dismal anticipation shadowing his expression. 

It was only as the moon came up into his view that the lumberjack shivered, looking down to his trust ax, listening to whatever his mind conjured for him to hear. 

"I know Lucy..." he muttered, "I know..." and woodies' head fell into his hands. Wilson felt that he should probably come out and comfort him, but a sudden jerk from his friend's body halted him, and he could only watch as the Canadian began quivering.

 _A seizure, perhaps?_ thought Wilson to himself, before he was thoroughly disproven.

Woodie was not convulsing or crumbling into himself, _woodie was turning into something_. Where once his friend sat, there was now growing a great beast, covered with brown silky fur, nothing like the man which had been there previously. It growled, human cries turning to animalistic whining and grunting, until at last, its form settled, and it reared its head up-

_A beaver?_

Wilson was awestruck as the massive creature sprung up, growling. Most certainly it was a beaver. A massive beaver that looked like it had eaten nails for breakfast and had steroids running through its veins instead of blood, with woodies mustache, pants, and overalls, but a beaver nonetheless. At once the thing launched for the nearest tree, teeth shredding into its trunk and consuming it like a ravenous dog...

_It is beautiful._

~

Woodie awoke with less than pleasant sounds. Everything hurt more than usual, as though he had been through a great tousel, every limb hung heavy with led as he attempted to focus on his surroundings. One blink, two blink, and suddenly things began to come into focus. He was in the forest. _where else genius._ He groaned again, fighting against the drowsiness still lingering in his bones. 

"Ah, Woodie, you are awake," a voice crooned from behind him. Wilson! He attempted to turn around to his friend, glad to hear a familiar voice in the midst of his miserable fog. He could not, however, follow through with the action. Something was inhibiting the movement, something was holding him back...he looked down...Rope. it was snug against his chest and arms, holding him fast to the tree behind him. He grunted, squirming for purchase, yet found that whatever had tied him up had done a commendable job. 

"Wilson...buddy...could you give me a hand?" he muttered, his tongue feeling wrong, his voice scraping out of his cotton throat. Wilson came to stand in front of him, crouching to be eye level with him. his typical red vest was gone, shirt rumpled and dirty, as though he'd rolled in the grass below them a bit. There were other stains on his shirt cuffs, which were pushed up even further than normal. The scientist laughed, it came from deep in his chest, rolled over and out of him with a warmth that Woodie had never before been beholden to. 

The usual pale, harsh lines of Wilson face were softened by something that could only be described as eerie admiration as he reached a gloved hand out, stroking at woodies ginger hair with calloused, tender fingers, a soft smile splaying over his lips. 

"Why did you not tell me?" he asked, not angry, not accusing, or even offended, all of which Woodie thought he might prefer over the sickly coo. all of a sudden he felt like a fly trapped in honey. the lumberjack, whose pulse was rising by the minute, tried to flatten himself as far as he could into the tree. 

"What's the matter old hozier- come on, is this a joke, I'm really not in a joking mood right now-" 

"I never joke about science." Suddenly there was a sharp pain at Woodies scalp, right behind his ear, and Wilson pulled his hand away. In the black fingerless gloves, there was held an impressive clump of ginger locks, which he admired. 

"What's this aboot Wilson!" The lumberjack half cried and growled. His nerves were tap dancing, blood rushing through his head, everything was happening, none of it made sense, and Woodie was getting darn sick of it. "Are you mad or something! go get some flowers, Christ above, just let me go!" he began to squirm again, attempting to brute force his way out of this situation. Nothing budged. 

"Calm down, I have no wish to harm you more then is necessary." Woodie did not dare linger on the implications of the mad scientist's words. "Why would I maim such a beautiful, mysterious phenomenon as you! Such a scientific anomaly!" He was on the move as he spoke, taking his ill-gotten hair and taking it over to the campfire...There was a large fire going, despite it being day, besides which there was a straw roll, a top of which there were multiple other objects. 

_The curse._

"Wilson!" Woodie appealed, breaths coming out harsher, less even as fear choked the oxygen from him. "Wilson I don't know what's gotten into ya...but...but listen to me, stop and listen." He strained against his bindings, terror soaring as helplessness built within him. "If ya untie me, if ya let me go and act sensibly, I'll...I'll tell ya more about it-the curse." 

"What about this is not sensible?" Wilson laid the ginger hair next to another clump of brown, silky fuzz...the pelt of his beaver form. "You possess a fascinating condition, I saw with my own eyes something that would have been deemed impossible by any respected scientific mind. Impossible, you see, is a word I hardly believe in, it is the shield of cowards who dare not ask questions." As he spoke he observed with great interest the two clumps of hair he had stolen. 

"I ain't answering any damn questions if this is how yer going to conduct yourself," croaked woodie, setting his jaw and glaring despite the tears clogging his throat. Wilson frowned. 

"I thought you might say that," with that ominous phrase the scientist turned his attention from the hair clumps and picked up- 

"You leave her out of this!" yelled woodie, anger mixing with the cocktail of angst between his ribs. Wilson gave him a threatening scowl, holding Lucy over the roaring fire pit. 

**"Woodie!"** the ax cried to him, sounding terrified. It broke woodies heart...that was his friend, the only companion he had truly had, that had stuck with him through everything, had kept him company in his lonesome log cabin, and Wilson was threatening to drop her into an inferno. **"Woodie what's happening!"**

" _PUT HER DOWN HIGGSBURY_ -" 

"Answer my questions, then," was the cool, heartless response, paired with a waiting frown. 

They stared one another down for what felt like a eternity of torture, the longer woodie kept silent the more malicious the void in Wilson's eyes became. Woodie saw his grip on Lucy begin to loosen, digit by digit edging closer to unfurling. sorrow tore through him like a bullet. 

"FINE! Fine I'll answer your questions. Just put her down, leave her out of this, please-" he breathed a wretched sob of a breath as Wilson complied, setting her safely back onto the mat, looking rather pleased with himself. 

"Sensible man," the scientist purred, coming once more to crouch at eye level before woodie. "Now, tell me, have you always had this ability of yours." 

Miserably, held upright by nothing but the ropes, Woodie nodded, mumbling: "runs in the family." 

"so it's genetic..." Wilson muttered, mostly to himself. 

"It's a curse..." 

"and how did this curse, if it is a curse, come upon your family?" 

"i'dunno, no one can remember..."

"It must be some ancestral blunder, or, perhaps, it is some biological mutation..." mutation, woodie did not like that word, he had fought all his life to avoid being labeled under such awful, scientific terms. "there were tales in my land of men and women wearing the skins of wolves and serpents by the light of the moon, doing the devils work, and the skins of man in the day. the full moon, especially, was a time of great activity...well for many things men called supernatural. I have always wondered of those transformations, scientifically they hardly seemed possible, I had no reputable sources for their existence, nor any means to procure myself a specimen...but now here you are." the open fondness in his voice was revolting.

_specimen._

Woodie shivered, shaking his head. "no...Wilson...come on, you're a gentleman scientist, why don't you put the gentleman into-" 

"Don't you moralize to me," hissed Wilson, all the fondness dissipating for one ugly moment. "I was never cut out to be a gentleman, that name refers only to the fact that I work alone and was smart enough to stay uninvolved with the petty, ugly neighborhood daughters my mother threw upon me." He let out air through clenched teeth before discarding the subject entirely, relaxing. "Is this an occurrence that only happens during the full moon?" 

woodie shook his head. "If I...overwork myself...it can happen."

"Interesting...Tell me, how does it feel when you've transformed. What occupies your mind, do you retain what small intelligence you had as a man, or is it all purely animal instinct? Obviously, you are more resilient in this form, stronger as well, and it took me four sleeping darts to knock you out..." 

"Animal instinct..." 

"I always did like your eyes," Wilson blurted out, making Woodie look up dismally in confusion. "There they are," Wilson said, smiling that awful, loving smile as he came closer, and closer, until he was nearly pressed against Woodie, knees on either side of his hips, fingers cupping his jaw and forcing him to tilt his head upwards, so that Wilson could get a better look at the eyes he claimed to enjoy. They were a glittering green, just like the forest around them, but bloodshot and teary, puffed up in the flesh surrounding them. "Green, so befitting your occupation...I saw that even as a monstrous beaver you still had those eyes, it is the one common factor which you share, besides the mustache. Your two forms share these two eyes. An unchanging variable, as it were." Woodie stifled his whimper as best he could. "answer me this, woodie, can you see in the dark?" 

"a-as the beaver...yes..." 

"I thought so," purred Wilson, rising from his victim all at once, turning back to the fire and the mat a few paces away. "see, my dear woodie, night vision is a concept which has crossed my mind many times. I have yearned..." he dropped to his knees at the mat, "yearned! for the ability to see into the void of night, to see finally what maims us when we go out into it without lights. Think of it, if we can see what is attacking us we stand a chance at defeating it for good, whatever it is. Maxwell won't tell me, that bastard, nor will he produce anything to aid in my research." He held something over the fire, smiling merrily, a feral sort of excitement, a thirst for knowledge, painted across his face as he watched the flames nip to his instrument. "and if he will not help my enterprise, then I will have to forge on by myself." 

satisfied, the scientist rose and turned upon woodie, "now, a fair warning," Wilson said, advancing upon his trembling prey with a razor in one hand and a heated spoon in the other, " _This is going to be excruciating_." 


End file.
